


12 Days of Shipmas

by morphin3



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-09 17:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 8,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12892713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morphin3/pseuds/morphin3
Summary: 12 one-shots written for 12 Days of Shipmas





	1. Christmas Gifts

Harry was sweating. Despite the snow, despite the brisk wind that whipped through the Hogsmeade buildings, he was sweating. Nerves, probably, he thought to himself, and he took a deep breath. There was truly nothing to worry about. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, wasn’t doing anything strange.

Ordering a gift was nothing out of the ordinary. Just because this happened to be a gift for a girl Harry cared about very much didn’t mean anything, because the girl was not his girlfriend, so this wasn’t a serious gift. It was a casual gift, a friendship gift, an ordinary gift. Harry smirked to himself. Oh, so very extraordinarily ordinary.

He pushed his way into the post office and wished, not for the first time today, that he had his Invisibility Cloak with him, but currently the Cloak was tucked away in his trunk. Oh well. Harry maneuvered around a witch carrying several large parcels and finally reached the front counter.

“Can I help you?” asked a bored-looking wizard. His uniform was rumpled, and Harry did not envy the bloke his job.

“Er, yes,” said Harry. “I need to place a special order.”

* * *

 In the Gryffindor Common Room, late in the evening after Slughorn’s party, Harry stared at the fire. Draco and Snape were up to something, Ron and Hermione were still not speaking to each other, and… he frowned. And Ginny was still out with Dean.

Harry shifted in his chair, uncomfortable with the directions his thoughts were going. He had heard Dean and Ginny arguing earlier in the day, and while a little part of him had leapt with hope, a bigger part of him ached at the idea that Ginny was unhappy. As much as Harry would like Ginny to move on from Dean, he knew that break-ups were painful. Ron’s avoidance of Lavender was emphasizing this truth to him more and more each day.

Harry glanced down at the gift resting on the arm of his chair. It was poorly wrapped, but only in comparison to Hermione’s skills. When next to Ron’s gifts, Harry’s wrapping job was a job well done.

In the light of the fire, the shiny wrapping paper reflected back at him. Harry sighed. He wondered if he was making too big of a deal out of nothing, but then he thought about Ginny’s triumphant shout whenever she scored a Quidditch goal, and the butterflies in his stomach told him that he was doing the right thing.

The portrait hole opened abruptly, slamming against the opposite wall. Harry spun around to see Ginny storm into the common room and a disgruntled Dean following her. Ginny did not seem to notice Harry as she stomped over to the chair next to him. She flung herself down into the chair, crossed her arms over her chest, and glowered at the fire. Harry tried to press himself into his chair while not moving a muscle.

Dean had followed Ginny partway to the circle of chairs, but stopped. “Ginny, please,” he said in a low voice, and Harry wished - again - that he had his Invisibility Cloak. Not that he wanted to stay for this discussion, but he definitely did not want to be noticed right now.

“Go away, Dean,” Ginny said dully. She did not look away from the fire. Harry watched her carefully. She was not crying. She did not seem to show any feeling except exhaustion.

“But I-” Dean tried, but Ginny cut him off.

“Just go away, please.” Still she did not look at Dean.

Harry listened, without turning his head, as Dean sighed and departed for the dormitories.

The two of them sat quietly for a minute, although Harry wondered if Ginny knew there were two of them. He tried his best not to fidget, and he tried to calculate how late he was willing to stay up if Ginny never went to bed.

Harry was startled out of his reverie as Ginny heaved a sigh. “Alright, Harry, I won’t bite,” she muttered moodily. He looked at her. Her eyes are shut, but there was a bit of a smile teasing at her lips. Harry blinked before he stared too long at her mouth.

“Er, how are you?” he asked stupidly, mentally kicking himself as soon as the words escape him.

Thankfully, Ginny ignored his stupid question.

“What are you doing up so late?” she asked, opening her eyes and turning towards him.

Harry held his breath for a moment. “I was waiting for you,” he said quietly, then waited for her reaction.

“Because Ron was too cowardly to wait for himself?” she asked, getting angry again. “That hypocritical pra-”

“No, not because of Ron,” Harry interrupted her. She stopped talking and looked at him, eyebrows raised in question.

Harry summoned all his Gryffindor courage and said, “I have something for you. A gift, a Christmas gift. Here,” and he picked up the gift at his side, stood, and reached to hand it to her. She stood too and took the gift without comment, fingers tracing over the wrapping that now, in her hands, looked quite shabby. Harry noticed that she was smiling to herself.

“You can open it now,” he blurted, wanting both to see her reaction and to run away.

She grinned at him, a true smile that made her eyes sparkle and her cheeks flush, and Harry could not help himself from grinning back.

“I know it’s early,” he heard himself saying, “but I thought you might like to open this with a little privacy, and I wanted to explain...well, you’ll see.”

“Privacy, hmm?” Ginny winked at him. “What kind of a gift is this, Harry?”

Harry felt his face turn red. “Oh! It’s not, um, I mean, I didn’t, er,” he stammered, and Ginny burst out laughing.

“Oh, Harry, your face!” she cackled, and despite his embarrassment, Harry found himself laughing too.

“Oh, just open it already,” he urged, eager to turn the attention back to her. She smiled at him again - Harry felt the force of that smile down to his toes - and began unwrapping. As the wrapping fell away, Ginny slowed her movements. She turned the book over in her hands.

“Harry?” she asked uncertainly, and Harry stepped closer to her.

“I know you’ve had a bad experience with journals, so I ordered this one from a Muggle shop. There’s nothing magical about it at all, not a thing, and here-” he gently opened the leather binding “-is a Muggle pen. No inkwells, no wands, just plain old pen and pape-” Harry stopped talking as the breath was squeezed out of him; Ginny had flung her arms around his waist and burrowed her head in the crook of his neck.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and Harry caught his breath and gingerly wrapped his arms around her shoulders. He thought perhaps Ginny might be crying, or at least tearing up, but he couldn’t tell with how her voice was muffled by his robes. He shut his eyes and savored the feel of her, just for a moment, and then they both stepped back at the same time.

“You’re welcome, Gin,” he said quietly. “Happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas, Harry,” Ginny replied, and before Harry knew what was happening, she was standing on tiptoe and kissing his cheek. He blinked, surprised, and then Ginny was gone, disappearing up the stairs to the girls’ dormitory. He stood still for another moment, rubbing his cheek and replaying the last few moments in his head. Happy Christmas, indeed.


	2. Christmas Tree Decorating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas at Grimmauld Place can be quite dreary without some familial touches.

Despite Kreacher’s continual grumbling, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place was almost cheery on Christmas Eve. Mr. Weasley was expected home at any moment, and what with Sirius’s whistling and Ron and Hermione’s constant bickering and the twins Apparating in and out of rooms, Harry found himself seeking a moment of silence in the parlor.

Given the grandness of the room, it had made the most sense to put the largest Christmas tree in the parlor. Kreacher had lit a fire in the fireplace, and with a few candles lit on the mantle, the room was actually cozy and almost festive. Harry sighed as he sank onto the sofa across from the fireplace. The tree was just to the left, in the corner between the mantle and the window, and the smell of pine filled Harry’s nose.

Movement caught his eye, and he bolted upright. Someone was at the window. Harry gripped his wand and took a step closer, squinting at the glare in the pane.

Suddenly Ginny’s face appeared before him, and he stumbled back.

“Harry!” she cried as he caught himself on the arm of the sofa. “You scared me!”

“Sorry, I thought I saw someone at the window,” he said, slightly dazed. “But I guess it was you?”

Ginny flushed and nodded. “I was just sorting through this box of ornaments,” she explained, motioning behind her. Harry saw the corner of a brown box through the boughs of the tree. “I didn’t hear you come in, and then I looked up and you were right there…” she trailed off, not meeting Harry’s eyes.

“I’m sorry I startled you,” he said gently. He did feel bad for startling her, and he was embarrassed to admit that she had startled him. “Want some help?” he offered.

She looked at him then, and Harry felt like she was studying him, looking for something, though Harry couldn’t guess what.

“Alright,” she said finally. “Come on, let’s decorate this tree.”

She stepped back and knelt to move the box so it was not in the corner but out in the open. Harry joined her and looked in the box. Bright, handmade ornaments filled the box; it looked to Harry as if a Muggle craft store had exploded and this box had been used to clear the wreckage. Tinsel, glitter, yarn, and even more glitter lay in a mess in the box.

Ginny reached in and picked up some yarn that had, Harry saw, letters pasted on to read “Our First Christmas Together.”  
“This is from Mum and Dad’s first married Christmas,” she told him as she stood to drape it on a branch.

Harry just looked at her, aghast.

“What?” she asked. “Does it need to go higher?” She stepped back, tilted her head. “Yeah, it needs to go up higher.” She moved to reposition the yarn.

“Ginny,” Harry finally found his voice, “where did this box come from?”

She looked at him as if he had asked her where Father Christmas lived. “From the Burrow, of course.”

“But… but how did they get here?” Harry persisted. If he couldn’t leave the first floor without Mrs. Weasley knowing it, how on earth had Ginny escaped to the Burrow and back without notice?

“I asked Tonks to get it for me,” Ginny answered matter-of-factly. “I figured since these are homemade, even if she dropped them, they couldn’t look any worse.” She looked at Harry seriously, and Harry looked back, and they stared at each other for a moment before they both cracked up laughing.

When they finally stopped laughing long enough to catch their breath, Harry turned to her and grinned. “This is brilliant,” he said in awe. “Excellent idea, Ginny.” He reached out and squeezed her hand briefly, then dropped it.

Ginny regarded him. “It’s not Christmas without our ornaments,” she said firmly. “Now let’s get this tree decorated before Mum comes looking for us.”


	3. Baby's First Christmas

The Weasley fireplace flares green, and Bill, Fleur, and baby Victoire appear. “Happy Christmas!” Bill calls. Ginny jumps up from her spot on the couch and moves towards the fireplace, but Ron beats her. 

“Here, let Vic come see her favorite uncle, right?” he croons as he sweeps Victoire out of Bill’s arms. Ron waltzes Victoire away from the fireplace and into the kitchen, crooning to her the whole time. Ginny rolls her eyes, not wanting to admit that she too had been reaching for her niece.

“Hi Bill, hi Fleur,” she says instead, hugging her brother and sister-in-law. “Can I help you carry anything?”

Bill laughs. “Oh sure, pretend that you came over to help us and not steal our daughter away for the rest of the day.” He reaches to pat Ginny’s hair, but Fleur puts her hand on his arm and gently redirects him.

“You look zo lovely, Ginny,” Fleur says with a smile. She glances at Bill meaningfully. “Did you do zometheeng new ‘ith your hair?”

Ginny grins at her. “You mean besides wearing it down?”

Before Fleur can comment further, Molly emerges from the kitchen and embraces Fleur, then Bill, scolding them for bringing so many dishes. As they head into the kitchen, Ginny slips back to her spot on the couch and turns to look out the window. The bustle of Christmas Eve is her favorite time of year, but currently her favorite person is not yet at the Burrow. Ginny sighs, wishing Harry had not drawn the short straw and been forced to finish paperwork today.

He had promised, last night as he had kissed her goodnight, that he would arrive at the Burrow in time for dinner, and Ginny had gripped his hands, kissed him again, and reminded him that dinner meant 2 o’clock. He had kissed her back, murmured, “Of course, Gin.”

Ginny sighs again and glances at the clock. Twenty more minutes before Harry should arrive, but maybe she would get a Christmas miracle and he would come earl- The fireplace flares to life again and Harry tumbles out, coughing a bit and brushing Floo powder from his hair.

“Harry!” she cries, springing up from the couch again and throwing her arms around him. He catches her in a tight hug. “You got done early?”

Harry squeezes her again. “I couldn’t stand to miss another minute of your favorite day.”

Ginny rises to her tiptoes and kisses him. “I’m sure boring paperwork had nothing to do with your motivation.”

Harry laughs. “Okay, but it wasn’t my main motivator.” His hands slide down her back, coming to rest just above her bum.

Ginny snorts and steps away from him. “As long as I’m still number one. Now come on, the family will want to see you, and we can finally eat!”

She takes his hand and heads for the kitchen, choosing to ignore Harry’s mutterings about “Weasley stomachs.”

A chorus of “Harry!” and “You made it!” and “Finally!” greet them as they walk into the kitchen. Ginny smiles to herself as Harry receives embraces, hair ruffles, and back slaps. She loves how her family loves him. Since it is obvious they can progress no further together, she drops his hand and finds a spot along the far wall to lean and observe the chaos.

Bill sidles over to her. “Finally ready to begin Christmas?” He smiles at her warmly, slips one arm around her shoulders.

Ginny leans into him. “Is it that obvious?”

They watch their mum fuss over Harry while Ron teases him. Hermione stands by them, holding Victoire, who is grasping at Hermione’s hair with one hand and reaching for Harry’s glasses with the other.

Bill glances at her. “It’s been obvious for years, Gin.” He gives her a squeeze, then releases her. “Speaking of obvious, I’m going to go find my wife so this family can finally start dinner.”

He walks away, and Ginny wraps her arms around herself. Her parents are bringing food to the table and flirting shamelessly. George and Percy are arguing good-naturedly in the family room, Audrey nearby. As Ginny watches, Percy reaches and grasps Audrey’s fingers, even as he talks animatedly with George and as Audrey begins chatting with Hermione.

Victoire is now in Harry’s arms, slapping at his glasses. Harry holds her with one arm and with the other, tries to keep his glasses on his face. Ron laughs at him and tickles Victoire, who shrieks when she sees her parents come down the stairs with Charlie.

Ginny feels a bubble of contentment fill her chest. Christmas is her favorite holiday because no matter where in the world they are, her whole family comes together to celebrate. She swallows hard. This year is easier than last year, with Fred’s absence, and it helps that Victoire is here to distract everyone from the empty seat at the table. Ginny finds that she is staring vaguely at the baby, but then Harry turns and her attention focuses. Her eyes meet his and she cannot help smiling.

Harry gives Victoire over to Fleur and heads towards Ginny. “Alright, Weasley,” he says, leaning against the wall next to her and linking their fingers.

“Alright, Potter,” she returns, sliding sideways just a bit so their shoulders bump. “You look good with a baby in your arms.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “I think I prefer babies with red hair, actually.”

Ginny feels warmth spread all through her even as a lump forms in her throat. She and Harry have talked about the future, sure, but she still gets butterflies when he talks like this.

She leans her head on his shoulder. “Black hair is nice, too.”

“You think?” Harry is still watching the rest of the family, but Ginny can tell he is attentive to her every breath.

“I especially like green-eyed babies,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

“If they had red hair and green eyes, they would always be ready for Christmas,” Harry murmurs back, squeezing her hand.

Ginny finds that the lump in her throat has grown so that she cannot speak. How to express to Harry that having babies with him would feel like Christmas every day? Tears spark at her eyes, tears of happiness and of love and of simply being overwhelmed with feelings for the man beside her.

Harry tilts his head to look at her. “Alright, Weasley?” he asks again, quietly this time. He squeezes her hand again and brings it up so he can kiss the back of her hand.

Ginny raises her head off his shoulder and blinks furiously. “Alright, Potter,” she answers, her voice coming out strong despite her inability to swallow.

Harry grins at her, leans down to kiss her. She leans into the kiss, then pulls back to look at him.

“More than alright, Harry. So much more than alright.”


	4. Wrapping Presents

Christmas this year, Ginny knows, is going to be much more subdued than normal. With Ron, Hermione, and Harry on the run from the Ministry, Percy snubbing the family, and Charlie stuck outside Britain, the Burrow is going to feel, well, roomy compared to Christmases past.

Catching herself staring off into space for the third time in a quarter of an hour, Ginny shakes her head and returns her gaze to the table before her. She is wrapping gifts by hand, no magic, even though her mum had smiled warmly at her and told her, “use your wand if you want, no harm done,” but Ginny can’t bring herself to hurry this. She wants to take her time, to use her hands, to feel the paper crinkle under her fingertips and tie ribbons by hand. Using magic for this feels cheap, somehow, like she doesn’t care about the gifts or the recipients as much, and oh, how she cares.

She looks down at the three jumpers on the table. Maroon, blue, and emerald green, three sweaters for the three people she misses most right now. Ginny reaches out and stokes the fabric: maroon for Ron, because as much as he protests, he would never wear anything else; blue for Hermione, because she is the sister Ginny always wanted and Merlin himself would have to stop Molly Weasley from including Hermione in the Weasley family; and green for Harry, to match the eyes that stared in Ginny’s all those months ago, eyes filled with pain so many times, eyes that haunt Ginny’s dreams.

With a start, Ginny realizes that she has tears in her eyes. She shakes her head briskly and reaches for the scissors. “Pull yourself together, Weasley,” she mutters to herself, “and just wrap the damn presents.”

Rather sharply, she slices through the wrapping and applies Spell-o-Tape. The paper wrinkles a bit under her aggressive folding, but Ginny ignores this. She also ignores the fact that she is ignoring the wrinkles because these presents, most likely, will remain wrapped come Christmas morning. Ginny grits her teeth, slams her hand onto the table next to the packages. “Don’t you dare think that, Ginerva Weasley,” she tells herself firmly. “They are coming back, if not this year, then next.”

Ginny ties off the last ribbon on Harry’s wrapped jumper, stacks the three wrapped gifts, and carries them to the tree in the family room. Carefully, almost tenderly, she kneels and arranges the gifts under the tree. She places them right in the front. “See?” she whispers past the lump in her throat, “I believe they’re coming back.”


	5. Christmas Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celestina Warbeck is singing in the background and Harry is content.

Mrs. Weasley waves her wand and just like that, the wireless is on and Celestina Warbeck’s warbly voice is filling the downstairs of the Burrow. Harry glances up at her from his spot on the couch, but she just smiles at him and continues on her way to the kitchen. 

Harry sighs contentedly. Ginny is lying on the couch with her head in his lap, and as much as Harry enjoys Mrs. Weasley’s company {and cooking}, his greatest Christmas wish is to remain in this exact spot for eternity. 

Harry hears the kitchen door open and Ron and Hermione enter and greet Mrs. Weasley. He glances down at Ginny, but she seems undisturbed by Ron’s yelps and Molly’s scoldings. Harry shifts carefully and wiggles his toes, checking for circulation. Ginny’s head is a solid weight on his legs, her hair fanning up his jumper just a bit. Harry smiles and lets his fingers skate back and forth over her shoulder. 

In this moment, with Ron and Hermione chatting with Mrs. Weasley in the kitchen, with Mr. Weasley coming down the stairs with Percy, with Charlie due to arrive any minute, with Celestina Warbeck crooning on the wireless in the background, with Ginny asleep on his lap, Harry finds he is deeply, impossibly content.


	6. "Did Someone Spike the Eggnog?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See title :)

Harry’s stomach is roiling and he cannot figure out why. The room is also spinning a bit, which is unusual. He stares hard at the Christmas tree in the corner of the Burrow’s sitting room. Yes, it is definitely dancing. A dancing Christmas tree! How magical. 

He turns to tell Ginny, but finds that she is not beside him anymore. Harry blinks, blinks again, and looks around the room. There she is! Lounging on the sofa like she is sunbathing. Her bangs are flopped over her eyes, and Harry watches as she squints at him. 

One lazy hand comes up to wave. “Alright, Potter,” she drawls. 

Grinning, Harry moves towards her. He trips over the ottoman and ends up on his hands and knees. He raises his head and finds himself looking straight at Ginny’s chest. Gingerly shifting his weight, Harry raises a hand, reaching for her. “Hullo,” he says.

He slides his hand along Ginny’s rib cage, slowly moving up her torso, enjoying the feeling of her soft jumper and the way she shivers under his touch. Just as his hand is level with his gaze, Ginny grabs him. “Harry!” she hisses. “Not in front of the baby!” She wiggles her eyebrows and looks pointedly behind him. 

Harry turns his head faster than is probably wise, and the room spins again. He has to let go of Ginny and put both hands on the floor to steady himself. When he can see straight again, he recognizes Victoire Weasley as she crawls towards him. Her parents are nowhere to be seen. In fact, the rest of the sitting room is remarkably empty. 

“Ginny,” he says slowly. “Where is everyone?”

Ginny props herself up on her elbows and peers around. “I dunno,” she says, rather confusedly. “How did I get on the sofa?”

Harry turns back to look at her. “And why is the room spinning?”

Ginny flops back onto the couch and groans. “And why...why am I dizzy?”

Harry shifts so he is sitting against the couch. Ginny’s hand immediately goes to his hair, stroking gently. Harry extends one leg out towards Victoire, who reaches his ankle and attempts to pull off his sock. Harry makes no move to stop her. 

“If I didn’t know any better,” says Harry, very seriously, “I’d say that someone spiked the eggnog.”


	7. Snowman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James shows off and Lily laughs, as per usual.

Lily looked out of the Common Room window and snorted. James was waving at her from the grounds below, his hair wild and blowing everywhere. “What a nincompoop,” Lily muttered fondly, and she got up to get her coat.

Five minutes later, she was walking across the snow-covered yard. “What in the name of Merlin are you doing out here without a hat?” she yelled to James, who grinned even more widely and threw his arms open to her. Rolling her eyes, she went to him, secretly grateful for his warmth.

“I don’t need a hat,” James declared. “Besides, Rudolph needs it more than I do.”

Pulling back from him, Lily frowned. “Rudolph?”

James gestured grandly in to his right, and Lily sees what was previously hidden from view in the Gryffindor Tower: a massive snowman, with James’ woolen cap perched jauntily atop its head.

Lily gaped. James beamed. “That’s Rudolph,” he said proudly. “I named him for the Muggle song.”

Lily burst out laughing. “Oh James, you adorable wizard,” she gasped. She didn’t want to let the laughter tears escape her eyes; it was much too cold for that.

James looked hurt. “Why are you laughing at Rudolph?” he asked, pouting just a bit.

Lily took his hands in hers. “James,” she said gently - although the effect was ruined by how widely she was grinning - “James, in the Muggle songs, Rudolph is a reindeer and Frosty is the snowman.”

James rolled his eyes. “Pshaw. What kind of name is ‘Frosty’ for a snowman? That’s like, like…” he paused, searching for a good example.

“Like calling a deer ‘Prongs’?” Lily asked innocently, cocking an eyebrow.

“Oi!” James exclaimed, reaching for her. Lily danced backwards out of his reach, smirking at him. “We thought we were being clever, you know. We were pretty pleased with ourselves.”

He took a step forward, slowly extending one hand to her and raising the other in a sign of surrender. Lily took his hand and allowed him to come close enough to wrap his arms around her again.

“You are clever, and you should be pleased with yourselves,” Lily allowed, snuggling into James’ warm chest. “But you are bloody awful at naming things.”


	8. Christmas Jumpers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some more angsty Hinny. Is anyone surprised?

A week before Christmas, Harry glances at the stack of presents under the Weasley tree, then takes a closer look. Most of the presents are bright, shiny, with fresh, perky bows on them, but there are three that look...old. Faded, a bit rumpled, saggy. 

He frowns and moves closer. There is a fine layer of dust coating these three gifts, and they are somehow wedged between two of the tree’s branches, almost like they grew in that spot, although Harry knows this cannot be. He kneels in front of the gifts and reaches for a tag, visible off the gift on the left. “To Hermione,” it reads in very familiar handwriting, “love from Molly and Ginny.” 

Brow furrowed, Harry feels around for tags on the middle and right-hand gifts. He finds them: “To Harry” and “To Ron” the tags read, with the same signature as the first, except Ron’s says “Mum” instead of “Molly.” 

Harry drops the tag and considers the gifts. Three presents, addressed to him and Ron and Hermione, with faded wrappings…

“Harry?” A soft voice interrupts his thoughts. He twists and sees Ginny coming towards him, concern and...is that sorrow on her face? She drops to her knees next to him, reaches to take his hand, and her eyes never leave his face. 

“I meant to move these,” she murmurs, searching his face. 

“Are they...from last year?” he asks quietly, guessing the answer from the pain in her eyes. She nods, and he squeezes her hand, hoping she gets comfort from it as much as he does. 

“They’re your jumpers,” she whispers. “I wrapped them and put them under the tree, right in front, because-” her voice falters a bit, and she swallows and takes a breath before continuing “-because I had to prove to myself that I believed you would come home.” Her voice is barely more than a breath by the time she finishes, and Harry reaches to wipe a tear from her cheek. 

“I’m glad you believed, Gin,” he whispers back, leaning in until their foreheads are touching. “There were days when I didn’t believe it, but I’m glad you did. I know it was hard,” he adds, feeling her grip tighten on his hand, “but sometimes I think… I think you believed enough for both of us, and I didn’t realize how much I needed that until it was all over.” 

There are more tears on Ginny’s cheeks, and Harry cups his hand under her jaw. She lifts her head from his, shifts her legs, and wraps both arms around him, presses her head against his chest. His arms go around her immediately, and for a while they kneel there together in front of the jumpers.


	9. Ice Skating

The Saturday of the last Hogsmeade weekend of term means that Ginny is almost alone at the Great Lake; there are only a few other students Transfiguring their boots into ice skates. Ginny waves at a few Slytherin girls as they skate past her, and then she pulls her scarf more tightly around her neck. The wind is quite brisk this morning, but Ginny could not stand to be cooped up in the castle any longer. Hogsmeade, however, feels too busy, too bustling. Today, Ginny wants to have some time to think. 

She knows that this is going to be a hard Christmas, and frankly, she doesn’t feel ready. Which is good, she thinks, since it doesn’t quite feel like Christmas yet, despite the decorations around the castle and the end-of-term exams looming. But the feeling of Christmas has not yet reached Ginny, and she wants to let herself adjust. 

She ducks around a low-hanging tree branch and jumps: there is a figure standing between the trees about 15 feet away. Ginny blinks, then grins and sprints forward. “Harry!” she exclaims, leaping for him.

Harry catches her, laughing. His arms are tight around her waist, his hat falls off, and Ginny buries her face in his neck. After a moment, he sets her down, but he keeps his hands at her waist; Ginny lets her hands slide down from his neck to his chest.

“What in the name of Merlin are you doing here, Harry?” she asks, feeling a bit breathless from both his embrace and his appearance. “I thought you couldn’t get leave until next week.” 

Harry brushes snow from her hair and grins. “I finished my paperwork earlier than expected, and I had my Invisibility Cloak on me, so I thought…” he trails off and takes one of her hands off his chest, linking their fingers. Despite the cold, neither are wearing gloves, and it takes a moment to sort their cold fingers. 

Ginny laughs at their clumsiness, then leans up on tiptoe to kiss him. “You and that Invisibility Cloak,” she murmurs, “still getting you into trouble even out of school.”

Harry pulls her closer and kisses her again. “What can I say, I like trouble,” he whispers against her lips. 

Ginny gets lost for a while in his kisses, savoring the sensations of his stubble against her cheeks and chin, inhaling the smell of him, clinging to his hand and his shoulder. The wind blows harshly, whistling through the tree branches, but Ginny doesn’t notice. She has missed him so, so much; they haven’t seen each other since Halloween, and although this separation has been easier by far than last year’s, it is still difficult to be so far away. 

After several minutes, she pulls back, panting a bit. Harry blinks a few times dazedly, and Ginny laughs. “Did I snog you senseless?” she teases, stepping back just a bit and swinging their joined hands back and forth. 

Harry raises an eyebrow at her. “Don’t you always,” he returns, squeezing her hand. He starts walking towards the lake, in the direction Ginny had come from. “Want to go ice skating?” 

Ginny falls into step next to him, dropping his hand and linking her arm through his. “With you? Of course,” and when he smiles at her, Ginny thinks that perhaps Christmas will be alright.


	10. Traditions

“Harry?” Ginny calls as she steps out of the fireplace of 12 Grimmauld Place. She is sweaty and so very glad that only two more practices stand between her and the three whole days off Gwenog gave the team for Christmas. 

The sitting room is quiet, and the only lights are those coming from the tree in the corner. Ginny smiles at it fondly, remembering the joy she felt a couple weeks ago as she and Harry had decorated it. Harry had teased her about all the paper chains she made, and she had threatened to hex him so that she didn’t have to make the paper chains, and then they had kissed and kissed and slid to the floor and kissed…

Ginny shakes her head and, glancing at the clock, heads for the kitchen. At this hour, Harry is usually there, preparing dinner or keeping a plate warm for her. Her chest tightens at the thought of how well Harry cares for her, even after his long days in the Auror office. 

At the door to the kitchen, Ginny stops short. Through the open door, she can see Harry, his back to her, standing at the counter next to two-and-a-half-year-old Teddy, who stood on a stool. They both had aprons on, Teddy’s so long on him that there was a pool of fabric at his feet. Flour covers much of the countertop, and baking sheets filled with round cookies, some baked, some still doughy, are everywhere.

Ginny holds her breath, the sight so tender she fears she may cry. She hears Teddy’s childish babbling and Harry kindly directing him. “Just like that, Teddy,” he says, his hands over the toddler’s as they press a cup into dough. A rolling pin rests next to Harry, on the far side from Teddy, and Ginny wonders how many times Harry’s fingers were rolled before the tool was placed out of Teddy’s reach. 

Ginny leans against the doorframe, silently watching. There is dough on Harry’s cheek and flour in his hair, stuck there unconsciously, no doubt, by his own hands. Teddy’s hair is black today, as is common when in the presence of his godfather, and also has flour in it. The sleeves of his jumper, folded in an attempt at cleanliness, keep slipping down into the dough.

“You and I made Christmas cookies together last year, Teddy. Do you remember?” Harry asks, carefully lifting a cookie from the counter and placing it on a baking sheet. Teddy nods vigorously, his eyes glued to the cookie as Harry arranges it on the sheet just so. Ginny presses her lips together, holding in both a sigh and a laugh. Teddy is so solemn; the toddler is rarely this focused. 

“It’s called a tradition, Teddy, when families do certain things together every year. I didn’t have many Christmases with my parents, and you never got one with yours, but this is something that you and I can do together,” Harry murmurs as he helps Teddy cut another cookie. “No matter where I go on missions or how old you get, making Christmas cookies is our tradition.”

A small sob escapes Ginny’s throat. Merlin, she loves this man. Harry hears her and looks over his shoulder, alarmed, but he relaxes when he sees her. He motions with his head for her to join them, but Ginny shakes her head. Her heart, her throat, everything is too full for her to move, to speak. She smiles at him, wiping her eyes, and mouths, “I love you,” to him from the doorway. He smiles, mouths it back, and returns his attention back to Teddy.


	11. Nativity

Lily was torn. On the one hand, she and James were both going crazy stuck inside the cottage all winter, and this was the perfect opportunity to get out for just a couple hours with Harry. On the other hand, there was a reason they were in hiding, and that reason was a madman trying to take over the world and murder their son. Her son, her baby. How could she put her baby at risk?

But her husband was at risk of going mental stuck inside the house, and Bathilda had argued so sweetly, and dammit all, it was Christmas. 

She shifted the groceries in her arms as she walked up the garden path to her home. Through the front window, she could see James waving his wand and setting the tree ornaments to dancing, while Harry lay in front of the tree and waved his arms over his head in glee. Lily’s heart felt so full she thought it would burst. 

It was the point about Christmas that convinced her, really. Harry’s first Christmas. She wanted it to be special, wanted it to be memorable, and what was more special than Harry playing the part of Baby Jesus in the church nativity? Of course he wouldn’t remember it, she knew, but it would be a lovely tale to tell him someday. 

Bathilda had promised that James could be a wise man or shepherd so that Harry would have a familiar face near him, since the parts of Mary and Joseph were already filled. Lily rolled her eyes at the thought of James in a Muggle costume; he would either embrace it wholeheartedly or groan and grumble about it while secretly enjoying every moment. There was no in between with James, Lily knew. 

She stamped her feet on the mat, knocking the snow from her boots, and opened the front door. “It’s me,” she called, “your favorite wife, love of your life, mother of your child, Potions extraordinaire, and Gryffindor.” 

James came to the hall to meet her and take the groceries from her. “I know it’s you, love. Secret-Keepers, remember?” he asked, bending to kiss her cheek. “No one else can get in,” he chuckled, and she swatted him. “Oi!” she laughed, “one can never be too careful in these troubled times, and besides,” she added, seeing the smile slide off his face, “you need to be reminded of who took a NEWT in Potions.”

She winked at him saucily, and was pleased when he set the grocery bags down, turned, pulled her into his arms. “You’re feeling very cheeky tonight, my love,” he murmured into her hair. 

She snuggled into his arms, pressed her face against his chest. His arms rested along her waist, one hand coming up to play with her hair. She looped her arms under his to grip his shoulders, and she inhaled deeply: James smelled like home to her, always.   
“I met Bathilda at the shop,” she said quietly, still in arms. She paused, listening for Harry, but he seemed content on the living room floor. 

“Oh?” James asked, leaning back to look at her face. He studied her a moment, and Lily knew he was thinking of all the bad news that Bathilda could have passed on, even with Lily’s obviously cheerful attitude. 

She squeezed him closer. “She asked if we had plans for Christmas Eve. I told her it would probably be just us, maybe the boys coming ‘round, and she asked-” and Lily hesitated, bit her lip. James pulled back again, brows raised. 

“She asked if Harry could be Baby Jesus in the church nativity,” Lily said at last, watching James closely for his reaction. He said nothing, and so she rushed on. “She said there aren’t any other babies who are the right age, and that you could be a shepherd or someone so Harry wouldn’t be alone up there, and the service is only supposed to last ninety minutes at most, and...and what do you think?” she finished. It was her turn to raise her eyebrows at him. 

“You want to say yes.” It wasn’t a question. James said it carefully, though, like he was still processing, like he was considering it. He stroked her hair with one hand and licked his lips. Lily nodded, eyes dropping briefly to his mouth before looking back up into his eyes. He wiggled his eyebrows at her; he had caught her looking.

She rolled her eyes even as she pressed herself closer to him. “I do want to say yes,” she admitted after a moment. “I think it would be a lovely little outing for us, and the boys could all come and watch, and it would be such a fun tale to tell Harry when he’s older, that he got to be Baby Jesus for his very first Christmas. He’s just getting friendly with strangers, you know, and he’s old enough that he just might behave for the entire little performance, and James,” she faltered, trying to find the words, and James’ hand on her waist tightened its grip just a bit, reassuring. “I think it would be good for all of us to get out of the house, just for a little while,” she whispered. “I know it’s hard being stuck in here every day, and I know a church service sounds about as exciting as a date with the giant squid-” James snorted “-but at least it’s out of these four walls. I think it would be good for you, for us. For all of us.”

“Alright, Evans,” he said, and Lily blinked. 

“What?” She had expected more resistance. 

“Alright,” he repeated, smirking. “Let’s do it. Let’s turn our son into the Christ-child for some Muggles.”

Despite her surprise, or maybe because of it, she laughed, and he laughed too, and she leaned once more into his arms, resting her head on his chest. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, tilting her face up to kiss him. “This means a lot to me.”

“I can tell,” he replied, smiling against her mouth.

“It’s just,” she said quietly, one ear listening still for Harry, “I want his first Christmas, our first Christmas as a family of three, to be special, and this will do it, won’t it. This will make it special.”

“Lily,” James said, sliding both hands up to cup her face. His face is serious. “It is already going to be special because we’re together. It’s special because we are here and alive and together, and that makes today special, and it will make Christmas special.”

Lily tried to blink back tears, and James wiped away the ones that escaped. “We’ll be alright, Evans,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “We’ll be alright.”


	12. Christmas Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "It's Christmas Eve and you're not here..."

Ginny groans and stretches in the locker room. The team has just finished a brutal practice, made harsher by the cold winds of Scotland. The Harpies are a part of a Christmas exhibition, and while Ginny had been thrilled to find out the team had been selected, today, on the 24th of December, all she wants is to be at the Burrow snuggled up with Harry.

Harry. As she packs up her bag, she recalls giving him the Harpies’ Christmas itinerary. He had whooped and hugged her when she had told him the team had made the exhibition, squeezing her tightly even as she explained that it meant she wouldn’t be home for Christmas. 

“I’m so proud of you!” he’d exclaimed, kissing her cheek.

“But Harry,” she’d protested, sliding her hands to his chest so she could look at him. “It’s Christmas!”

“Yes, and it’s Quidditch, which are your two favorite things in the world,” he’d laughed and pulled her back to him.

“Well,” she had said slyly, “you’re forgetting one other favorite,” and then they had not talked any more. 

Today, however, Ginny wishes they had talked a bit more. She wishes she had told him how Christmas didn’t really feel like Christmas without him, and that even more than two years after Riddle’s defeat, being separated from Harry at Christmas reminds her of that awful Christmas during her Sixth Year when Harry was on the run. She shudders at the memory of that near-silent Christmas, with just her parents and the twins at home. 

Ginny checks her locker one last time, then shuts it and shoulders her bag. The hotel is just across the street from the practice stadium, but she buttons her coat as she heads out the door; the Scottish winds are not kind to her warm muscles or hot skin. She shivers as she checks the street, crossing it quickly and hurrying up the steps to the hotel door. 

Inside, she smiles at the concierge as she makes her way across the lobby to the elevator. Christmas music plays softly in the background, and Ginny tries humming along, but finds that her throat is suddenly too tight. She coughs a little, trying to dislodge the lump, and her chest aches with missing her family. 

The elevator is speedy, thankfully, and Ginny grapples for her room key as she heads down the hall. It is a small hotel, and there are no other guests in sight as Ginny unlocks her door, slips into her room, and drops her bag. The door thuds shut behind her, and she rests her head against it for a moment. She takes a deep breath, willing herself to cheer up and not mope. It will be Christmas in just a few hours and she is determined not to start it off by moping. 

A shower will help change her mood, she decides, and heads towards the bathroom. The water does clear her head a bit, and Ginny emerges twenty minutes later feeling calm, if not a bit resigned. She knew what she was getting into when she joined the team, she reminds herself, and it does no good to either her or the team if she spends the evening missing her boyfriend. 

The hotel elves have placed dinner on the suite’s coffee table, keeping it warm with a heating charm. Ginny plops down on the sofa and picks up her fork. Not as good as her mum’s cooking, but really, does anything else compare? 

Ginny sighs and forces herself to eat. She waves her wand at the wireless, and Celestina Warbeck’s “Cauldron of Hot, Hot Love” turns on. An ache rises up in Ginny so strongly that she can barely swallow. She has never been this homesick before, but the combination of distance and Christmas must be amplifying her loneliness. 

The fireplace suddenly flares to life, and Ginny jumps. 

“Miss Weasley?” comes a voice from the flames. “You have a guest, a Mr. Potter? Shall I send him through?”

Ginny gasps, then quickly finds her voice. “Yes, please,” she calls, a bit shakily. She grabs a napkin off the table and wipes hastily at her mouth, grateful that she put on pajamas instead of remaining in her bathrobe. 

The fireplace flares again, tall green flames licking towards the mantle, and Harry emerges, the collar of his coat turned up, a Gryffindor scarf around his neck, and a ushanka hat on his head. He grins at her. “Hi, Gin,” he starts, but gets no further as Ginny leaps over the couch and throws her arms around him.

She ignores the chill that still clings to his coat and hugs him tightly. Harry hugs her back just as tightly, and he presses a kiss to the top of her head. 

“What are you doing here?” she finally asks, pulling back from him just a bit. 

“Surprising you,” Harry chuckles. Ginny rolls her eyes and pinches his side. 

“Really,” she pushes. “How? Why? What’s going on?”

“I know how much you love being together at Christmas, so I thought I’d come be with you,” Harry answers, grinning at her. He releases her and reaches to untie his scarf, but before he gets the knot untied, Ginny is grabbing him by his hat’s ear flaps and pulling his face down to hers. 

“Thank you,” she whispers, and then she kisses him. 

Harry smiles against her lips. “Happy Christmas, Gin.”


End file.
